


Tactics

by theinvisiblequestion



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, post-"Year of Hell", pre-"Collective"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:12:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1971924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisiblequestion/pseuds/theinvisiblequestion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years of evasion tactics fail, forcing Kathryn to go on the offensive and send her opponent running. Chakotay calls her bluff. Set some time during late S5/early S6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“Time’s up.”_

Kathryn thrashed as she woke, tangling her foot in the blankets. Her labored breathing echoed off the walls of her quarters. She took a moment to calm her racing pulse, and then asked the computer for the time.

“The time is 0621 hours.”

“Computer, lights.” Kathryn climbed out of bed, running her fingers through her short hair. She stopped in front of the mirror and touched her own face, confirming the lack of scars.

She blinked. Where would she have gotten scars?

Chakotay had insisted she take the whole day to herself today, her birthday. So much for sleeping in. But perhaps she could get an early start on her day. A few crew members had begun writing holonovels, and their first holonovel had become the gossip of the ship. If she started by 0800, she could play the entire program by midafternoon and still have time to get herself ready for her “surprise” birthday dinner.

Kathryn found a set of clothes among her things that would fit the holonovel’s guidelines nicely, and avoided looking in the mirror on her way out the door. The mess hall had already begun to fill with crew assigned to today’s alpha shift.

“Oh, Captain! I wasn’t expecting you so early.” Neelix brushed his hands on his apron and poured Kathryn a cup of coffee. “I had a special birthday breakfast in mind. It’ll only be a few minutes, if you want to have a seat.”

“As long as it isn’t leola root pancakes,” Kathryn teased.

Neelix put his hands up. “No, no. I learned my lesson there.”

Kathryn found an empty table and sat facing the huge bay windows, nursing her coffee. Neelix had experimented with the various alien substitutes again; this coffee kicked like a horse.

“What happened to sleeping in?” asked a familiar voice over her shoulder.

“Oh, you know me. Eager as a beaver. I wanted to try that new holonovel everyone’s been talking about.” She gestured to the seat across the table.

Chakotay dropped into the chair, cradling his own cup of coffee between his palms. “Are we still on for tonight?”

“I thought it was supposed to be a surprise,” Kathryn said.

Chakotay laughed a little. Lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, and disappeared as quickly as they had come, but the curve of his mouth remained. “Sorry. Don’t tell anyone I told you.” He leaned in, eyes flicking to the galley. “Neelix has been working _very_ hard to keep it a secret.”

Kathryn leaned in as well. “It would have been a better secret if it wasn’t happening in _my_ wardroom.”

Neelix appeared at the tableside with one plate of what appeared to be a traditional American breakfast, and one plate of the morning’s standard breakfast fare. “Here we are! Eggs, sausages, and a generous helping of hashed browns.” He frowned and set the plates down. “Although I still don’t know why they aren’t called hashed potatoes. Well, _bon appetit_!” He vanished again.

Chakotay frowned. “Pudding,” he said, pushing the little bowl to the side. “Well, at least it’s not leola root pancakes.” 

* * *

 

“Computer, activate program ‘Asters of Kamar’.”

The console beeped. “Program is active. Enter when ready.”

Kathryn stepped inside, and the arch faded into the bulkhead behind her. She stood in a corridor identical to the ones inside _Voyager_. “Computer, what program is this?”

“Program is entitled ‘Asters of Kamar’.”

Kathryn frowned. No one had mentioned the holonovel took place on the ship. She looked around in the dim light, and recognized the bridge entrance. She emerged onto the bridge just in time for Tuvok to report “yet another” attack by a Krenim ship.

“Red alert,” she said automatically.

“They’re relentless, Captain,” Chakotay said.

Kathryn stood above the captain’s chair, leaning on the railing. _Voyager_ shook as an alien ship flew by, firing weapons. “Return fire,” she ordered.

“Firing forward phasers,” Tuvok answered. “A direct hit to their weapons array. The Krenim ship is moving away.”

“Stand down red alert. I’ll be in my ready room.” Amid the structural shambles of what used to be a ready room, the computer console remained intact. She accessed the most recent captain’s log, and discovered that she had stepped into the middle of a war, one that had crippled _Voyager_ in its first week and continued to cripple her with each passing day. The Krenim attacked five or six times a week, preventing the crew from repairing existing damage while simultaneously battering the ship further. According to the logs, a retreat had only strengthened the Krenim’s resolve to turn _Voyager_ into space dust.

The door chimed. “Come in.”

Chakotay appeared. “Captain,” he nodded.

“What’s the damage?” she asked.

“We cut this one off pretty quickly, but they hit our starboard nacelle. We’re going to lose it if we can’t get the structural integrity field reinforced.”

Kathryn shook her head. “I don’t understand,” she muttered. How had such a dismal holonovel become so popular? “We need our engines. Engines and life support have priority. If nothing else, I don’t want to be sitting ducks when another attack hits.”

“We don’t have anyone to fix it,” Chakotay informed her. “Everyone from engineering who’s fit for duty is trying to fix other problems. We’ve got people pulling double shifts all over the ship, and it still isn’t enough.”

“Then it’ll be you and me. Get the tools and I’ll meet you there.”

Chakotay nodded and left the ready room.

“Computer, end program.” Nothing happened. “Computer, arch.” Kathryn’s chest tightened. “Computer, _end program_!” Kathryn tapped her combadge. “Janeway to bridge.”

“Captain?”

“Shut off power to holodeck two.”

“Captain, we haven’t had power to the holodecks in weeks.”

She shook her head. “No.” Images flashed across her vision: _Voyager_ in shambles, limping through space, hoping to find allies to fight against the Krenim; a mess hall full of the injured and dying; her own hand, holding a silver pocket watch as a ship rushed sideways toward the gaping hole in the bridge.

* * *

She woke to the doctor’s face looming over her, backed by the stark lights of sick bay. “Doctor?”

“You fainted,” he told her. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Kathryn pushed herself up. “I thought I was in ‘Asters of Kamar’,” she said, shaking her head. “It was on _Voyager_. We were at war with the Krenim. The ship was…” A hand flew to her mouth. “I flew the ship right into the Krenim vessel and… destroyed it.”

“That’s not ‘Asters of Kamar’,” the doctor protested. “I don’t know of any program like _that_.” The doctor scanned Kathryn with his medical tricorder. “Intriguing.”

“What is it?”

“You have increased engramatic activity in your hippocampus. It appears you’ve been reliving a memory of an event, although I for one don’t recall a war with the Krenim.”

Kathryn shook her head. “No. We encountered them just after the astrometrics lab was brought online. We—we—” They had altered course and gone around Krenim space, but they had been attacked by the Krenim. They had flown safely around the sector, but they had been hunted into oblivion. They had not come into contact with the Krenim again, but Kathryn had flown _Voyager_ into— “I don’t know.”

“Your engramatic activity tells me you’re remembering something. A lot of something, as a matter of fact.”

“Yes… and no…” Kathryn frowned. “I remember changing course to go around Krenim space after they asked us not to trespass.”

“Yes, that’s what was in the log.”

“But I also remember… something else. A year of hell, warring with the Krenim.”

The doctor frowned. “Captain…”

Kathryn shook herself. “You know, doctor, come to think of it, I must be remembering a dream. I had a similar one a few nights ago; I must have just gotten the two confused.”

“That—” The doctor sighed, pressing his holographic lips together in a tight line. “Would seem to be consistent with my readings. Nevertheless, I’d like to do a few more scans.”

“What time is it?”

“Just after 1600 hours.”

Kathryn shook her head. Eight hours? “Sorry, doc. I’ll come in first thing tomorrow morning if you like, but right now I’m a little busy.”

“Captain—”

“First thing tomorrow,” she said as she walked out of sick bay. “I promise.”

* * *

“Here’s to the captain,” Neelix said, raising his glass.

“To the captain,” Chakotay echoed. “It’s just a shame everyone else had to—”

“Ensign Wildman to Neelix.”

Neelix sighed. “Neelix here.”

“Naomi’s having trouble sleeping again. Do you mind?”

Neelix smiled. “Not at all.” He nodded to Chakotay and Kathryn. “My apologies. Duty calls.” He left the wardroom, leaving his plate only half-empty.

Kathryn tossed a hand toward the door. “Next thing I know, someone’s going to call you away, too,” she joked. Before Neelix, B’Elanna and Harry had gone to investigate a minor engineering issue, Tuvok had gone to settle a dispute in the mess hall, the doctor had called Tom for help in the sick bay, and Seven of Nine had left to recalibrate the astrometrics array. What had begun as a birthday party with the senior staff had quickly turned into a candlelight dinner for two. “But if you wanted to have dinner with me, you could have just asked.”

Chakotay put up his hands. “I swear I had nothing to do with this. Neelix just told me to show up.”

Kathryn gave him an eyebrow over the rim of her glass. “Whatever you say.”

“It’s true!” Crinkles appeared and disappeared at his temples as he laughed. “Besides, it’s not as if we don’t eat dinner together.”

“You’re right.” She pointed her fork at Chakotay. “Just as long as this isn’t a habit.” Her fork gestured to the eighteenth-century-style wardroom, complete with candlesticks on the trestle table.

“The surprise party or the candlelight dinner?”

Kathryn’s eyebrows pulled together. “Both,” she said hesitantly.

The precipitous fall on Chakotay’s face nearly went unnoticed in the dim light. “It’s not every day our captain has a birthday,” he told his plate.

Kathryn put a hand on Chakotay’s arm. “Chakotay… thank you. It’s been a long time since someone did something like this for me.” She smiled. “It really was a shame we had to leave that bathtub behind.”

The remark earned her a smile, and Chakotay’s warm hand over hers. “You deserve it, Captain. You’ve gotten us through some of the worst parts of the galaxy.”

“I couldn’t have done it without such a wonderful crew,” she said. “Especially my first officer.”

The silence stretched between them, as vast as interstellar space. “I have something for you,” Chakotay said after an eternity. From his pocket, he produced a thin, square box and a smile.

“Chakotay. You didn’t have to—”

He held up a hand. “I know. But I wanted to. Go on.”

She lifted the lid. Resting atop a layer of synthetic cotton padding was a beautiful silver fob watch. “Chakotay… it’s beautiful.”

“It’s a replica of Captain Cray’s pocket watch.”

“Captain Cray?”

“Ancient Earth captain. Everyone thought he and his crew had been lost at sea, but they pulled into port months later. All that was left of the ship was a few planks, a sail, and a mast—and most of Cray’s crew.”

Kathryn smiled.

“It’s completely mechanical. You’ll have to wind it up every day, but it’ll never be subject to power failures.”

“How many rations did you give up replicating this?”

“It doesn’t matter. It was months ago. I’ve been waiting for the right opportunity to give it to you, and… well, your birthday seemed right.”

Kathryn pressed the latch and the watch sprung open, revealing an analog clock face rendered in beautiful detail. Behind the watch, an alien ship rushed toward her, visible through a massive hull breach—

_“All hands, abandon—”_

_“Captain, Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Paris are safely aboard—”_

_“Time’s up.”_

“Kathryn!” Chakotay’s face hung over her, barely visible in the candlelight. “Computer, lights.”

“No! Computer, belay that. I’m fine.”

Chakotay frowned, but helped Kathryn back to her chair anyway.

“What happened?” she asked.

“You were staring at the watch, and then you fell out of your chair. You looked pretty horrified. My replication wasn’t _that_ bad, was it?”

Kathryn shook her head. “No. No, Chakotay, it’s lovely. Really.” She picked up the watch and turned it over in her hands.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

It _did_ look familiar. “Yes, of course. I’m fine.” Maybe she’d seen the original in a picture somewhere. Cray sounded like a familiar name.

“Kathryn, you fainted at the sight of a _pocket watch_. I’m not sure I call that ‘fine’. And I heard from an anonymous hologram that you fainted on the holodeck.” Chakotay rested a hand on her wrist. “What’s going on?”

She could evade him. Tell him about last night’s bad dream. Claim the flu, or a cold, or fatigue. “I don’t know,” she said. “I keep seeing… images. _Voyager_ in ruins, _Voyager_ destroyed, half the crew dead or dying.” She shook her head, waving a hand dismissively. “Bad dreams, I’m sure.”

“What about the engramatic activity in your hippocampus?” he asked. “The doctor reexamined his scans. He’s not so sure they were dreams.”

“Whatever they are, none of it happened to _Voyager_. The damage to the ship alone would have been irreparable, and as you can see, she’s ship-shape.”

“I’d feel better if the doctor took a look at you anyway.”

“And if I refuse?”

Chakotay shrugged. “I’ll take away your birthday.”

Kathryn heaved a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But only if we get ice cream afterward.”

Chakotay grinned. “Deal.”

* * *

The doctor took an hour and a half to reach a conclusion. “The evidence suggests you are remembering an alternate timeline.”

Chakotay frowned. “How is that possible?”

The doctor shrugged. “How should I know? I’m a medical hologram, not a temporal scientist.”

“What’s the treatment?” Kathryn asked.

The doctor blinked. “Treatment? I suppose I can give you a cortical inhibitor. It will at least keep you from fainting every time the memories surface. As for the memories themselves, I’m not sure what to tell you. Loath as I am to admit it, your best bet is probably Commander Tuvok. It’s possible that Vulcan meditation, or even a mind meld, may help your mind make sense of the memories.”

“Thank you, doctor. I’ll talk to Tuvok first thing in the morning. Right now, I have a birthday to get back to.”

The tight line of the doctor’s lips paralleled the lines on his forehead. “Very well. Keep me informed, would you?”

“Of course.” Chakotay offered her his arm, and walked her to her quarters.

“I’m sorry dinner didn’t go as planned,” he said.

“That’s alright. It’s the thought that counts.”

“Well, I’m glad Neelix’s efforts weren’t completely in vain.”

“Oh, it was all Neelix, was it?” Kathryn asked.

“Entirely,” Chakotay assured her. He shifted on his feet, away from Kathryn’s door.

“Leaving so soon?” she asked.

“I thought I’d let you get some rest.”

“I rested all day, or hadn’t you heard? Besides, you promised we’d get ice cream, and I don’t forget a promise like that.”

Chakotay sighed, the corners of his mouth heading for his ears at low impulse. With the lights dimmed, the captain’s quarters resembled a cozy little apartment Chakotay had once lived in on Earth. Kathryn ordered two small servings of ice cream: coffee for her, and chocolate for him. The ice creams suffered a bite or two before the attackers withdrew.

“You mean to tell me you had _nothing_ to do with the disappearance of my senior staff?”

“I was just as surprised as you were,” Chakotay answered, laughing. “As soon as Seven got up, I knew they were conspiring.”

“But why? Why go to all that effort if you’re just going to abandon the party?”

Chakotay threw up his hands. “I don’t know.” His right arm propped him up on the back of the couch. “But I may have to thank them anyway.” The fingers of his left hand had rested centimeters from hers for half an hour, but they initiated contact now. His pulse hammered against his temple, in his fingertips, behind his ribs. Rather than withdraw to a safe distance, her hand turned to embrace his. Her eyebrows, always so expressive, raised lines on her forehead. A precipice loomed before her, and beyond it, a whitewater river of emotion. Behind her, the safety of her captaincy and _Voyager_.

Nothing attacked the silence that hung between them. Diplomacy here would not come through words. Chakotay had made his move; Kathryn’s would decide the game.

Her hand fell from its position as a headrest and drifted across the gap until it came into contact with his jaw. The fingers of his left hand dislodged themselves from hers and followed suit. His own pulse beat in his first two fingers; hers beat in the last two, a harmony of silent drums. Her free right hand came up to meet his left, curling the beating fingertips around his palm. Her left hand fell to his chest.

They would reach a stalemate soon unless someone engaged a daring tactic. The worried arch of Kathryn’s brow signaled her impending decision to withdraw, but Chakotay braved the cliff. He kissed her lips gently, tentatively, relying on all the first contact procedures he knew—diplomacy, courtesy, delicacy.

“Commander,” she breathed when he withdrew. His forehead rested against hers, unable to gain escape velocity.

“Not here,” he begged. “Please.”

The fingers on his chest reached up to touch his face, his mouth, his lips. “Why? How?”

“You know,” he said. Her warm fingers scanned his jaw; her eyes, his own. He tempted fate again, coaxing her lips toward his. “Kathryn.”

He initiated a second contact no less hesitant than the first. They had exchanged transmissions, said ‘hello’, and paved the way for a mutual exchange of ideas, the foundation of a solid relationship—if she didn’t withdraw, or worse, fire on him.

The hand at his neck tractored him in, preventing retreat. The return of her kiss sent seismic tremors through him, and the drumbeat in his chest faltered before it raced on. When the contact broke, she sped away, warp ten on a heading far, far away from him. The hand that had once held him captive now pushed him away.

“No.” Her distress call marked a sentiment that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The true mayday hailed him from her brow, her eyes, the shrinking set of her shoulders. “I can’t,” followed after, staticky and uncertain.

“Says who?” His fingers met with hers again, an effort to coordinate a rescue maneuver. She searched his face, his eyes, hopelessly lost in a quadrant he had helped her find.

“You know.”

“Not me, and not this crew.”

Her face dropped out of the conversation’s orbit. “I can’t.”

He lifted her chin carefully, to avoid any shear that might compromise her hull integrity. He scanned her face; she had raised shields again. She would fight to the bitter end if he attacked now. Diplomacy had taken its turn; only retreat remained. With a last sweep of his thumb on her jaw, he withdrew. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll let you rest.” He stood, and she ignored him, staring at the space his body had left.

He stood at the door, nearly out of range, when she said his name again. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

The doors slid open, and he looked back impulsively. She stood, stuck in an eddy of her own hesitation. “Why?”

He retraced his own course half a step. The doors hissed as they closed. “I know you. You’ll fight to the bitter end.”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Wasn’t it?”

Kathryn crossed the room and stood toe-to-toe with Chakotay, craning her neck to scan him. “I don’t want to fight,” she said. Her hands came to rest on his chest, and he watched as she struggled to decrypt his face and his words and her heart. She swayed backward, away from him, for a dizzying instant before her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him toward her until they crashed together like galaxies. Chakotay held her body with one hand and her head with the other. Between their mouths, a transmission roared, loud and clear. When he eased her away to give them both space to breathe, Kathryn traced his tattoo with the pad of a finger.

She attacked again, her lips pressed against his as if she might fuse the two of them together, atom by atom, molecule by molecule. The tide of her insistence swept his feet from under him, and he crashed into her. Years of wanting swirled around them, a dizzying storm of energy.

Something changed in that third shared kiss. Where Kathryn had once closed herself behind her shields, she now attacked with full force. Had Chakotay not towered over her, an immovable wall, she would have backed him against a—

The force of the impact knocked the wind from his lungs, but she gave no quarter. He would have lost his balance without the support of the bulkhead behind him. “Kathryn,” he murmured. Or had he said _captain_? The words sounded so similar.

Her lips detonated electric charges on his jaw and neck. He surrendered, unable to withstand her barrage. “Kathryn,” he repeated.

She answered with a tug on the ties of his wraparound tunic. The fabric fell open, exposing his bare chest and the sparse tattoo marks on it.

“Kathryn.” His voice cracked like a damaged transmission signal.

He’d gotten a nasty jolt from an E.P.S. conduit during one of his engineering labs at the Academy. He’d suffered jitters and static shocks for the rest of the day, and all the witnesses called him Sparky for the rest of the year.

E.P.S. shocks paled in comparison to her kisses. Every molecule in his body danced with the electricity. Her hands left crackling trails on his chest, and her lips sent spasms through his nervous system. “Kathryn.” His protests grew steadily weaker, but he persisted. She would not forgive him this lapse in her dignity, or his. He put a hand on her shoulder to push her away, but she caught him by the wrist and diverted his efforts. She left him no choice but to surrender.

Her Myrian-style dress clung to her shoulder by one loose sleeve, and his diverted attempt to stop this madness swept the sleeve away. Only his hand at her back held the fabric above her waist. She slipped her arms out of the sleeves and coiled them around his neck.

“Kathryn—”

“I don’t want to fight,” she growled. Her attacks grew steadily more aggressive: lips on all the sensitive places of his neck, his collarbone, his chest. His hands fumbled until they found her shoulders, and with one Herculean burst of effort, he pushed her backward, away from him.

“Kathryn!” Other words stuck to his tongue, but his hands betrayed him, caressing her neck, her face. Dignity winked at him from the window, framed by the Delta Quadrant and thirty more years in space. “Captain,” he breathed, a last-ditch effort to salvage the situation.

“Not here,” she replied, more a decision than a plea.

The synthetic material of his shirt slid smoothly from his arms, rushed along by her eager fingers. He attacked now, kissing fiercely, trapping her close to him. She didn’t struggle, only melted into him, her skin warm against his. They grappled with arms and hands and mouths, their close-quarters combat a mêlée of kiss-and-touch. She unfastened his trousers before he caught both slender wrists in one hand. She broke free and attacked again, driving him back toward a bulkhead. He tripped on the hem of his trousers and she caught him by the arm; her lips diverted his attention with a crackling trail of kisses while her hands stripped him of his trousers.

Emboldened by the energy of their scuffle, Chakotay lifted Kathryn by the waist and carried her out of the front room. He led the charge this time, driving her back with kisses behind her ear, down her neck, to the soft, sensitive place just below her collarbone, until she landed on her Starfleet-issue sheets. She threw her hands backward, caught herself on the mattress, but he didn’t let up. Her aggression had infected him with every touch, and now it consumed him. He drove her backward further until she reached the pillows, and then he dove for one final volley.

Her responding attack took him unawares, and he offered no resistance as she flipped him, straddling his waist and pinning his legs with her feet. His hands explored every inch of bare skin, shoulders to waist to thighs, while she infiltrated his last defenses. Her tongue swept past his teeth, sparring with his, a struggle for control of his mouth. When he would not yield, she retreated, laying waste to his bare skin with her lips and her teeth and her tongue. He suffered her assault as long as he dared before he fought back, flipping her onto her back again.

His body thrummed head to foot with energy and blinding want of her. She had trapped his hand beneath her when they rolled, and now he searched for the elusive clasp, pinching the halves together until they fell apart. Her bra disappeared, flung somewhere off to port, leaving her breasts exposed. She shivered when he brushed a hand over one, then the other. She had not grappled with anyone like this in years.

But then, neither had he. His hips ground against hers when they kissed again. Her underwear tangled at her feet when she tried to remove them, and he jumped away to avoid her knee. His shorts followed in quick succession, with minimal entanglement. Her fingers traced a sizzling line downward from his navel to the tip of his erection. His name lay on her lips, an invitation and a request. He took the word from her lips with his mouth as she guided him to her, warm and damp and ready. He sank into her, engaging a rhythm. She drew a knee up to his hip, pulling him closer as he rocked. He had forfeited much of his control with his dignity, and he lost it before she did, supernovae exploding between them.

The war ended abruptly, but peace talks had only just begun. Kathryn crawled under the sheets, and Chakotay climbed in next to her, kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips. “Chakotay,” she murmured. The pads of her fingers traced the tattoo above his eye again.

She moved closer to him until her body lay against his, shoulder to shin. The light of a hundred thousand distant stars illuminated her lover’s skin. Her fingers marked a winding course across the expanse of his chest; his did the same on her bare back. After a few luxurious minutes, he lay his free hand on hers to halt her mapmaking. “You should sleep,” he told her.

They had traveled more than four years in the Delta Quadrant, and in all that time Kathryn had always slept alone. After ten minutes of failed attempts to sleep, she moved, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and curled up on her pillow as close to Chakotay as she could stand. He kept tracing star charts over her back as she succumbed to the void of sleep.

_“—got his entire crew home. Sound familiar?”_

_“Captain, we’ve got hull breaches—”_

_“All hands, this is the captain. Proceed to the escape pods—”_

_“Time’s up.”_

Kathryn woke with a start. She sat in bed, blankets draped across one naked shoulder. “Computer,” she said quietly. “Time?”

“The time is 0251.”

A sigh rushed out of her. She got up, donned a nightgown, and cleaned up the discarded clothes and forgotten ice cream. Chakotay’s clothes had vanished along with him. Only the second serving of ice cream confirmed he had visited her quarters. If she hadn’t just picked up the underwear she’d flung at the wall, she might have doubted they ever—well. She looked around her quarters to make sure she hadn’t neglected anything, then retreated to her bed.

Sleep eluded her, dancing among the stars out her window, taunting her from the empty bed, scolding her from the nightstand where her combadge lay. She and her crew had bent or broken Starfleet protocols and regulations dozens of times here in the Delta Quadrant, but she had never broken _this_ protocol. She, a Starfleet captain, abed with her first officer? Sixty thousand light years away, Zephram Cochrane rolled over in his grave.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ensign, report.”

Harry glanced at the chronometer. 0734? The captain never arrived so early. “Uh, we picked up a Class K nebula on long-range scanners, almost directly ahead of us. Astrometrics says we’ll pass within half a lightyear of it on our current course.”

Captain Janeway nodded. “Send the sensor logs to my ready room. I want to have a look at the nebula.”

“Of course, Captain.”

The turbolift opened and Chakotay stepped onto the bridge. Unlike the captain, the commander arrived early to the bridge nearly every shift. “Captain.” He nodded toward the captain, but looked directly at Harry. “Anything interesting, Harry?”

“I’ll be in my ready room,” the captain interrupted. She didn’t so much as glance at Chakotay.

Harry stared after the captain, then blinked and reported, “Class K nebula. We’ll pass within half a lightyear on our current course, but I have a feeling the captain’s going to want to check it out.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Chakotay said. “You’re dismissed, Ensign.”

“But—it’s not the end of my shift.”

Chakotay arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, sir.”

Tom and B’Elanna sat at their usual breakfast table. Harry got a plate of breakfast from Neelix and joined them. “I think something really bad happened last night after we all left,” Harry whispered.

Tom snorted, and B’Elanna’s Klingon ridges deepened. “What are you talking about, Harry?”

“The captain just arrived _half an hour early_ to the bridge, and when Chakotay walked in, she bolted. Went straight to her ready room.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Harry, you’re imagining things.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I’m not. Tom, you’ve been on the night shift before. You know how the captain is always barely on time, and we _all_ know how she and Chakotay always get along.”

B’Elanna gestured with her fork. “Except when they don’t.” Tom nodded in agreement. “I seriously doubt the captain and Chakotay had a fight, Harry.”

“What if the plan didn’t work?”

Tom sighed. “Harry, the _plan_ was to let Chakotay have a few minutes to give the captain her birthday present, that’s all.”

B’Elanna snorted. “You misunderstood the plan, then, Ensign,” she said.

“What? No, that was the whole point of getting everyone to leave.”

“Do you honestly believe everything Seven tells you? I only told her that because if I told her the real reason, she’d have asked way too many questions.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.”

Harry frowned. “Seen what?”

“God, you’re both blind.” B’Elanna shook her head. “Well, if you can’t see it, I can’t enlighten you.”

Tom gave B’Elanna his best puppy-dog face, and she caved.

“Let’s just say it was a Maquis plot to get the captain and Chakotay to dinner.”

“But they have dinner every week. That’s common knowledge.”

B’Elanna waved a hand. “That’s different. They go over security reports and shipboard morale and boring Starfleet stuff. There’s no… atmosphere.”

The pieces shifted together like a perfect game of kal-toh. “Wait… wait… the _captain_ and _Chakotay_?”

Tom choked on his last bite of pudding. “B’Elanna, you can’t be serious.”

She shrugged. “If what you say is true, Harry, I’d say the plan went just fine.”

“I don’t know…”

Tom threw his napkin on his tray. “I guess I’ll go see for myself. I’ll let you know what I find out,” he promised, then left for the turbolift.

“I’m telling you, B’Elanna, the captain and Chakotay are _not_ on good terms this morning.”

B’Elanna shook her head, smirking, and took Tom’s tray with her to the replicator.

* * *

 

The door chimed. “Come in,” Kathryn answered.

“I… thought you might want to talk,” said Chakotay.

Kathryn stared deadpan at him, poorly masking the phasers burning in her gaze.

“About the new duty roster?” he reminded her. “The biannual review is almost a month overdue.”

“Not now.” She gestured to the console in front of her. “There’s a Class K nebula coming up.”

“Should I tell Tom to alter course?”

“No. It’s not that far out of the way. I’ll take a shuttle.”

“Our sensors are picking up deuterium. We could use the Bussard collectors to—”

“The readings are inconclusive, Commander. I’ll take a shuttle, and if there’s a significant amount of deuterium, I’ll call you.”

Chakotay nodded. “Right.” He backed toward the door, stopping just before it opened. “I realize you don’t want to talk about it,” he said, “and certainly not with me, but you shouldn’t keep it bottled up like that.”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Commander.”

“The alternate timeline,” he said. “What else?” He smiled as he retreated to the bridge.

Kathryn had spoken to Tuvok earlier about the recommended meditation, but it could wait until after the trip to the nebula. She’d take Tom with her, both as pilot and as field medic. Despite his cavalier façade, Tom had proven himself “quite capable,” to use the doctor’s words. If she fainted, he could treat her and pilot the shuttle back to _Voyager_. He might even keep the issue quiet.

She spent a few hours in astrometrics, working in comfortable silence with Seven of Nine, before her duty shift ended. The briefing with the senior staff took only a few minutes, but Chakotay cornered her in the wardroom again. Neelix had restored it to its natural state, but the air still smelled of burning candles.

“As much as I know you don’t want to, we do have to go over the duty rosters.”

Kathryn heaved a sigh and dropped back into her chair. “Fine.”

He handed her a padd. She read it three times and saw nothing. “What am I supposed to be looking for, Commander?”

“Anyone you think ought to be reassigned.”

“You’ve gone over these lists with the department heads,” she said. “If my senior staff think the roster is fine, then it’s got my approval.”

“Even if it means we’ll have the same duty shift on the bridge for the next six months?”

Kathryn leveled a glare at her first officer. “Do _you_ have a problem with that?”

“No. But you seem a little more irritable than usual, and I know it’s not for lack of coffee. You’ve had, what, five cups today?”

She’d downed seven cups. Or eight. Nine? “Make your point.”

The padd in his hand hit the table with a loud _slap_. “You don’t want to talk about it, fine. You want to pretend it never happened, fine. I was a Maquis captain; I’ve done this dance before. But I’m not going to let it interfere with the running of the ship, and if that means I have to be on delta shift for a while, then so be it.”

“No.” She took a deep breath, and her icy glare defrosted to a mild glower. “You’re the first officer. You’ll stay on the alpha shift.” She slid the padd across the table at him. “Dismissed.”

Chakotay left, his gait stiff with the effort of control. Today’s holodeck time would feature a Terrelian with a mean right hook, and maybe a trip to sick bay. He stopped in his quarters, changed into his boxing gear, and dug a pair of clean wraps out of a drawer. He wrapped his hands the way he always did: left then right, in the way his Academy coach had taught him. He tested the wrapping with a few clenches of his fists and a series of jabs to the empty air.

“Computer, activate program Chakotay beta-two.”

“Program is active.”

He entered the holodeck and dropped his bag on the nearby bench.

“Chakotay!” Boothby grinned. “I thought we were training today.”

Chakotay clenched his fists. “Change of plans. I need to hit something that’s going to hit back,” he said.

“Bad day?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, let’s get you warmed up.” Boothby nodded to the heavybag in the corner.

Chakotay stood in front of the bag and put his hands up. His hands floated like blinders at his temples, narrowing the galaxy to a sand-filled cylinder of polyurethane.

_Left. Left-right. Left-right-left._

The last person to drive him to change his boxing schedule like this had betrayed him and given his son to a bunch of barbarians.

_Right. Right-left-right. Right-right._

But Kathryn…

 _Right-left. Right-left. Right-left-right-left-right-left_ ­ _-right._

He had left shortly after she fell asleep. The crew would have talked if someone saw him leaving the captain’s quarters at 0600.

 _Left-right. Left-right-left. Left-left-right-left-right_.

Her shields vanished when she slept, and the starlight gave her silhouette a soft silver outline. The universe must have hated him, to make a creature like her, so invincible and unassailable and uncertain and vulnerable.

_Right. Left. Right. Left._

He punched harder and harder, a violent flurry of blows, until sweat blinded him and his arms and shoulders burned with fatigue. Boothby let the bag swing when Chakotay dropped his arms.

“That bad, huh?”

Chakotay laughed. “Worse.” He dug his gloves out of his bag and handed them to Boothby. “It’s a small ship.”

“Well, there’s a Terrelian waiting in that ring for you to box his lights out, if you can.”

“If?” The crackling, raw energy left over from last night’s electrocution needed somewhere to go, and an opponent’s face was as good a place as any.

Chakotay woke up in sick bay. The safeties on his boxing program kept him from compromising his ability to do his duty, but they did not prevent knockouts.

The thin line of the doctor’s lips paralleled the lines on his forehead. “I had hoped I wouldn’t be seeing you for another week, Commander. This is a new record.”

Chakotay sat up, wincing. The safeties didn’t prevent bruised ribs, either. “Sorry, doctor. That’s the sport.”

“I’ll need you to remove your shirt so I can fix that rib.” The doctor picked up an osteostimulator, and Chakotay hesitated. “Well?”

“Right. Sorry.” He peeled off the still-sweaty t-shirt, favoring his bad side.

The doctor surveyed Chakotay’s chest and side. “I wasn’t aware that biting was a legal move in boxing.”

Chakotay started to pull his shirt back on. “You know, maybe I’ll just suffer the bruised rib. Learn my lesson.”

The doctor pushed Chakotay’s arms away from his side. “No, you’ll let me heal this rib. If you want a trophy, you can keep the… _other_ bruises.” The soreness subsided as the stimulator knitted the rib back up. “Did you know that biting is a sexual behavior of nearly all intelligent species?”

“Doctor,” Chakotay warned.

“What? Attractive officer like you, I’m surprised you don’t suffer these kinds of injuries more often.”

“Doctor!”

“Alright, alright.” The doctor put up his hands in surrender, then traded the osteostimulator for the dermal regenerator.

“No,” Chakotay told him. “Leave them.” He slid off the biobed and pulled his shirt back on. “Thank you, doctor. I’ll just be on my way.”

“And don’t forget that you’re required to have medical clearance to engage in a sexual relationship with an alien species!” the doctor called. Chakotay waved a hand as he disappeared down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why the first chapter was almost 5000 words. I never make chapters that long. Ah, well. Here's another short chapter. I might get this finished one day. We'll see.


End file.
